Third Place: She's Back

She's Back

by Claire Beaver

Third Place

1.

On her hands and knees, loose pieces of grout piercing her skin between tiles, Avery scrubbed. The sponge was chunky with bits of vomit and fingernails intended to land in the toilet, but she didn’t stop until the splattered bits were gone. Avery couldn’t remember the last time she had thrown up, really thrown up. Maybe in college after a night of binge drinking with her sister; May knew how to drink. Avery pulled herself up by the rim of the tub, pausing twice as she got to her feet. She wiped the vomit from her chin with a smile, remembering.

It had been four months since she found out she was pregnant and one month since she knew she was growing her sister.

2.

The funeral home was off the highway, an unassuming brick building painted white. There were heavy red curtains in the front windows to hide the grief from the highway, keep it contained within the walls. It shared a parking lot with a Dunkin; plastic cups and pink and orange straws lay abandoned near the gutter.

Avery sat in the driver's seat alone. She drove from her mom’s house in silence, needing the time to gather herself. Her mom had tried to stop her from driving, begged her to get in the car with her and Steve. Steve even offered to drive Avery first and come back for Mom. Avery declined; she wanted to be there first, to make sure everything looked how May would want it to look. Of course once she was inside, nothing looked how May would have wanted it to look. The heavy beige curtains blocked out any natural light, the carpet was dark green and patterned with tiny roses, and the one photo Avery had chosen to blow up was distorted, stretched to fit the poster board so that her and May’s faces looked sinister. They looked exactly alike down to their matching outfits, a photo of the two of them from the first day of kindergarten. Their mom had made them wear the same short pink dresses, exposing their chubby little legs and frilly white socks. They had both hated this, but at least they matched. This was before, of course, May decided they would never match again. It was also the last time either of them had worn pink. 

There were other poster boards, made by Mom and Steve, that featured May from infancy all the way up through a few weeks ago. May and Avery on their first bikes in the park near where they grew up. May and Avery’s first communion, complete with itchy white dresses and teeny little veils. May at the Old Settlers Days carnival with Dad, backlit by the garish lights of the rides. May and Avery at the Grand Canyon after driving all the way from Evanston when Avery was in college not two years ago.

Avery stumbled to the bathroom and sobbed so hard she nearly choked. 

People came and went, hugged her too hard, kept her hand in theirs for too long, let her say nothing. Avery and Mom and Steve stood near the urn, which was slick and black and propped front and center next to the blurry poster board.

3.

“Can I get a pack of cigarettes, please?”

The man behind the counter stared back. His face was pockmarked and scabbed, hard yellow bulbs hanging from his cheeks. There were a few black hairs poking through his chin. Avery wondered if he was trying for a beard. 

“What kind?”

“Oh, uhm…” Avery couldn’t remember what kind May smoked. “I think they have red on the box?” The guy reached under the counter wordlessly and pulled out two boxes. “Those, please,” Avery said, pointing at a box of Lucky Strikes. She recognized the big red circle.

“10.36,” the guy said. 

“Lighter?” Avery’s face was hot. She was sweating beneath her flannel. She was always sweating lately. The guy’s eyes flicked down to the row of lighters to her left. “Oh, sorry,” she said and handed him a red one. “To match the box,” Avery said. The guy didn’t laugh. Under the fluorescent lights he looked demonic. Avery was sure she wasn’t presenting much better. She wiped the sweat stache from her upper lip.

“11.52.”

She handed him a twenty and waited for him to count the change. She was getting hungry. He looked at her with squinted eyes as he passed her the coins. 

“Is this illegal?”

“What?”

“Selling cigarettes to pregnant women.” He put the bills in her outstretched hand.

“They’re not for me,” she replied as the bell rang and another customer walked in. Avery turned and left quickly. She sped home, her leg shaking at stop lights with anticipation.

Avery pulled into two spots and parked it anyway. Her neighbors would be pissed, but this was important. Plus, who could yell at a pregnant woman? She got herself settled into her couch with May’s photo propped up in front of her, the lighter and the box of cigarettes on either side. The photo was usually next to her bed, but she’d been bringing it from room to room with her since she figured out what was happening. May needed her just as much as she needed May. The pink cheetah print frame held a picture of the two of them in middle school, back to back with their arms crossed. They were at the beach and both had on enormous sunglasses. The bottom of the frame said “double trouble” in bold black cursive. Avery had brought it to college with her (May had said that she only looked at pictures on her phone, anyway). Avery smiled at the memory and rubbed her stomach in small circles under her shirt. She felt her warm, stretched skin, running her fingers along its curves and swooping one into her belly button. She wished May could see her, but she knew that she felt her. 

Avery pulled a cigarette slowly out of the sleeve after carefully unwrapping the box. She’d never bought cigs before, just smoked other peoples’ outside bars and parties. Whenever May offered her one and she declined, May would reach forward and stick one behind her ear, then pull out another one to smoke. She said it made Avery look more interesting.

Avery stuck one behind her ear and lit one in her mouth. She pulled too hard and couldn’t stop coughing, so she had to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. She spat into the sink and kept smoking, wanting to finish at least one. She looked at the photo again and then held the cigarette to her belly as if to say, your turn. Avery was taking care of May for a change, and she liked it. She laughed at herself and kept smoking and coughing and smoking and coughing. When she could no longer take it she turned the kitchen sink on and put the nub into the running water. Then she took her prenatal vitamins and laid in bed, rubbing slow circles on her protruding stomach.

4.

The cold paper crinkled with each shift of Avery’s legs. ChatGPT told her to come into the doctor’s office after she listed her symptoms, so here she was. Initially she thought it was the grief. It had only been a month since May had died, and she’d missed periods before. Neither her nor May were pinnacles of health; when they were 14, they both decided to be anorexic and that had lasted until they were about 16 and their mom put them in an outpatient program. When they both gained some weight and the fuzz stopped growing on their faces and necks, May decided smoking would keep her skinny instead. Avery didn’t take to it, so she kept her food intake small enough not to gain weight, but ate enough that no one could say anything to her about it. She had never been this tired, this unable to sleep, with a constant dull, aching pain all over her body. She looked down at her toes, chipped purple nail polish hanging on to just her middle three toes. 

A soft knock, and a gentle voice, “Avery Mason?”

Avery looked up and blinked, shivering with the breeze that came with the swinging door. Her eyes were heavy and she didn’t really feel like she was there. The doctor pulled over a rolly stool and sat next to the exam table. Her head was level with Avery’s stomach, so she had to look up at her to say this. 

“Congratulations, the blood test confirms that you’re pregnant,” the doctor said with a small smile.

Silent seconds ticked by. Avery kept her gaze on her toes as the soft buzzing of the office kept on in the background. Incessant, unrelenting buzzing. Her eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t fall.

“We can discuss options,” the doctor said after the buzzing got too loud for her to sit with any longer, “if you don’t want to keep it.”

Avery’s whole body convulsed with another chill. The doctor was still talking, listing options. Avery interrupted the speech she couldn’t hear with a sudden, “Can I get dressed?”

“Sure, Ms. Mason. You don’t need to decide anything right now.” The doctor stood and placed a hand on Avery’s bicep. “Is there anyone you can call?”

“My twin sister just died.” Tears stained the paper gown, weakening it. Avery wondered how many it would take to dissolve it altogether and leave her naked on the table.

“I am so sorry.” A pause. “Truly.”

Avery said nothing, soft tears continuing to pool in her lap.

The doctor took her hand away. “The nurse will be in to run some tests soon. I will give you a moment alone before that– again, I’m so sorry.”

5.

Avery swung open her cabinets, rooting through half-eaten cereals and dusty cans of kidney beans and iron pills she forgot to take. Then she realized what it was that she wanted: tuna. She grabbed the can and pulled the tab, peeling back the metal quickly to satiate her craving. She stuck her fingers in the can and pulled out a piece. Oil ran down her arm as she shoved the chunks in her mouth one after the other. When the fish was gone and all that was left was a small pool of briny oil, she tilted her head back and drained it, savoring the viscous slickness in her throat.

How many times had she watched May open the same can, spread her tuna on toast and savor each bite? The smell had repulsed her then, but now it only brought her solace. This craving was May’s, and it only helped to confirm what she already knew. That May was coming back to her. She would feed her and care for her and give her all her favorite things, and in three more months she would be back in her arms. Things would be different, of course, but it would only bring them closer. She felt the grief that lived in her heart fade with each new craving, each impulse and reaction, each new thing she learned about her baby.

6. 

Avery’s eyes watered. She’d been slowly sipping a now lukewarm Old Style, but she was too nauseous to finish. Each sip threatened to come back up and spill out onto her carpet. May would’ve tore her apart for that; she never left a beer unfinished. Avery had her laptop propped on her stomach, bigger now that she was just over six months along. She was scrolling blogs, searching for anyone who had the same experiences as her. She kept seeing posts about how people thought their babies were Elvis reincarnated or the next Dalai Lama. She scrolled and scrolled, her fingers cramping. She did this every so often, wanting some connection or even just a sign that she wasn’t alone in her experience. She hadn’t talked to her mom since her first trimester - she only had negative things to say and Avery didn’t have time for it. She and Steve could do whatever they wanted in Arizona. They’d abandoned May once, and Avery wouldn’t give them the opportunity to do it again.

Avery knew what May needed. Brown noise at night as she went to sleep, a couple beers on the weekends (Avery would stick to one a day), a pack of cigs a week (Avery would do one a month), cherry cough drops stocked up in each tote bag, the five silver rings she wore (Avery’s fingers were too fat to wear them at the moment, but she strung them up on an old chain she had and wore them around her neck). She would give May everything she wanted, make her comfortable in there until she was out in the world again holding Avery’s hand. Avery wondered if she would be exactly identical or if she would change a bit, maybe trying out a new pair of ears or the bigger lips she’d always wanted. They couldn’t afford lip filler, but May always wore this Korean lip gloss that claimed to do the same thing. It burned like there were a thousand needles being jammed into her skin, but May didn’t care. Her lips puffed and flared, shining a beet red. Avery had been too pain averse to do it, too. She wondered if she could still buy it somewhere.

She paused when she saw a reddit post titled ‘i think my grandma is coming back through my baby?’. Her eyes widened as she read each word; this user had lost her grandma the same day she found out she was pregnant. Her grandma had raised her, cared for her, was her best friend, and now she craved butterscotch candy and wanted doilies laid across all her tables. it can’t be a coincidence, y2k_gurl wrote, because i hate butterscotch. Avery clicked on the comments and read some, mostly doubters and trolls. She choked down another sip of beer and wrote, my sister is growing inside me so i know how you feel - dm me. She smiled at the hope of connection, at the knowledge that she wasn’t alone.

Avery drained the can and fell asleep on the couch.

7.

May slammed the door behind them, locking out the laughing and giggling and pounding bass. The single bulb blinked above them as May pulled her pants down and sat on the toilet. “Aren’t you glad we came?” she said while peeing.

“I dunno,” Avery answered. She took a swig from whatever brown concoction was in her cup. She was actively ignoring the fact that it was cloudy.

“AVERY!” she screamed.

“May shut up!”

May laughed and stood up. “C’mon, no one cares. It’s a fucking frat party!” She slapped Avery’s cheek. “You do it.”

“What?”

“Scream.” May’s eyes flashed with lightning. She pulled her pants back up and grabbed her sister’s face. “Do it, do it…” she chanted.

“Shut up, no,” Avery said as she reached for the door. 

“Pussy.” May had launched herself at the door, blocking it with her skinny body.

“May, c’mon.”

“I’m not moving until you do it.”

They stared into each other’s blue eyes. Neither one broke their gaze, not even when a drunk couple knocked on the door. “Just a second!” May screamed. “Do it and I’ll let you out.”

“You’re being psychotic,” Avery said, again reaching for the door handle. May grabbed her wrist and jerked it behind her back. Avery’s bangles pressed into her skin.

“Ahhhh,” Avery said just above her normal speaking voice.

“OPEN UP!” someone yelled. They banged on the door, shaking May’s body with each hit. 

“Do it,” May said, still not breaking her gaze.

“Ahhhhh!” Avery said. She waved her arms around for effect. 

“Like you mean it!” 

“C’MON IN THERE!”

“AHHHHH!” Avery screamed and May let her go.

May swung open the door just as the guy in his backwards baseball cap was about to knock again. He stumbled in. “Sorry, ate something nasty.” She grabbed Avery’s hand and they were back in the throng. May’s hot breath was on her ear as they pushed through the crowd to the big blue cooler propped up on a folding table against a wall, saying, “Aren’t you glad we came?”

Avery laughed. “We need to drink more.”

8.

Her stomach swished and pulsed, moving beneath the stretched layer of thin skin. Avery gripped the kitchen counter. She was slick with sweat, beads running down her back. She began to strip, tearing off pieces of her clothing. It’s just Braxton Hicks, she thought. I’m only seven months in. Her knuckles whitened as she grabbed the counter harder, tried to breathe through the searing pain rippling through her body.

Relax, May, she thought as she lumbered over to the couch and laid down. She had read something about how false labor could happen, but it would go away if you laid still. She breathed through her mouth, counting to ten before starting over. She thought about calling her mom. It had been weeks since they talked; she thinks it was around month five. Being so far away, there was nothing she could do anyway. She had abandoned her with her grief to go have retirement sex with Steve in the desert, so why would she care now? Avery told her she was pregnant around month five. She didn’t tell her it was May; she wanted to do this on her own. She broke from her reverie as her stomach bulged before her eyes and again pain shot through her. She felt like May was wielding a knife in there and trying to slice her way out.

“Shit,” she said aloud to no one. “Shit shit shit.” The pain only grew. It threatened to swallow her whole if she didn’t do something soon. She tried to get up but couldn’t. She felt like a horseshoe crab on its back. Helpless and stuck, waiting for someone to come along and help, knowing no one would. Avery tried focusing on the ceiling fan, one old deflated balloon sagging off its right side from some long ago party. The orange sack flicked in and out of her sight, blades slicing through it rhythmically. Slice, slice, slice… The fan persisted in spinning and Avery felt like she was going to pass out. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table, then realized she had no one to call.

Avery now knew she was giving birth. Two months early and alone. Blood spilled from between her legs, staining her velvet couch. Suddenly, she realized she was screaming.

9.

Mom’s head was tilted up and back as she pinched the bridge of her nose trying to stem the stream flowing from her nostrils. Red dots had already splattered on her white shirt. Avery was trying to catch her breath, one hand propped against the wall and the other on her heart.

“Why aren’t you in there? Can we go in? I need to see her,” Avery said as she wheezed. She tried pushing past her mom and into the room, but when she tried the door it was locked.

Avery looked back at her mom and realized her bloody mouth was mixing with tears, creating a pale pink mixture that flowed down. “Avery,” she said through the wetness, “it’s locked.”

“Why why why why…” Avery was pounding her fists against the door, then throwing her body against it over and over. “LET ME IN! I’M HER TWIN SISTER!”

“Avery stop,” Mom cried at Avery as she grabbed her shoulder and tried pulling her back.

“What’s happening?” Avery begged her mother. She could barely get the words out, gargling the spit and tears and snot that gathered in her mouth.

“Something about a car crash but I don’t know if she caused it or not and they said she took some kind of drug and I didn’t know she was doing that again and why–.” Mom had let go of her nose, didn’t even try to stop it from flowing. She took a breath and said, “They’re in there right now trying to save her.”

“What can I do? How can I help her?” Avery pulled her back into a ponytail and pushed her sleeves up. She wiped her tears.

“There is nothing we can do, sweetie,” Mom said softly. “We just need to wait.”

Avery pressed her ear against the thin glass window. It was tinted so you couldn’t see through it. She heard doctors barking orders at each other and tons of beeping. She grabbed her heart again. She couldn’t get a proper breath in, she needed to sit down, she was going to fall…

She woke up a minute later in a chair with a large nurse leaning over her. He was holding a small Dixie cup of water. “She’s awake,” he called behind his shoulder as my mother came running over.

“Jesus Christ I can’t take this,” Mom said as she pulled Avery in close.

“She’s fine, ma’am,” the nurse said, instead handing the water cup to Mom. “Make her drink this. She only passed out.”

“I can hear you,” Avery said from her seat beneath them, crotches in her face. The nurse left and Mom sat beside her and held her hand. They said nothing until a doctor emerged from the room May was in, holding his scrub cap in his hands.

“Are you the family of May Mason?”

We nodded.

“ We did all we could, but between her injuries and whatever was in her system, she didn’t pull through. May died on the table. I am so sorry for your loss.” 

10.

Avery lay limp on the gurney, puffy clouds stagnant in the light blue sky. They were shortly replaced by hospital ceiling tiles whizzing by. She blinked slowly, tried to lift her head and see what was happening with the lower half of her body. She tried to listen to what the doctors were saying to her, something about the baby coming right now, asking if there was anyone she could call. She hadn’t spoken much since she passed out on her couch after the EMTs burst through her door; they asked her rapid fire questions as they started trying to move her to get her into the ambulance. What was her name, was anyone else in the apartment, how far along was she, was she allergic to anything… Avery could barely understand them. She answered the best she could, but then she went silent after letting them know they could call her mom. She knew if she opened her mouth she’d cry or scream, and whichever came out would never end. She needed May. 

“Ma’am, ma’am, can you squeeze my hand?” A warm lump was in Avery’s hand. She tried to squeeze it but she couldn’t focus, searing pain radiating through her body. “Ok, good,” she heard. The lights blared white overhead, temporarily blinding her every time she blinked open her eyes. May. May was coming. “Avery, I’m the OB/GYN on call here,” a new floating voice said. She gurgled a sound in response. “We are going to need to deliver this baby now. We’ll perform a C-section, and we will need to put you under, ok? Everything is going to be okay.” Another warm hand in hers, but this time it squeezed for her. Movement again, the whizz of the tiles. Her body rocked as she was sped down the hallway, vibrating with hurt as she jiggled. 

Avery felt a soft gurgle coming from her throat, erupting into a scream. “May, May,” she cried. She screamed and sobbed and cried, until her vision went blurry and she was plunged into the darkness behind her eyes.

She woke up with a paper cap on her head and no underwear on. She felt itchy and thirsty, like she needed 

“May. That’s lovely,” the nurse smiled at her. “She already looks just like you.” The baby looked at Avery through the slits of its eyes. 

“She was already named. She’s my sister,” Avery said with blank eyes. She felt everything and nothing. 

“That’s so sweet. What a lovely tribute. I will give you two a little time. How this little girl came out so early and is staying so strong is just incredible.”

“She’s magic,” Avery whispered to May. The nurse left the room as they looked into each other’s eyes, already knowing. Then May’s face turned red, she opened the little hole of her mouth, and began to shriek.

Winning pieces are published as received.

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Fiction Potluck

April 2026

Third Place Winner:

Claire Beaver

Claire Beaver is a multidisciplinary writer with fiction and poetry appearing in Last Leaves Magazine, sans. press, and more. Her debut poetry chapbook, bones, ashes, fire, was released from Bottlecap Press. She is currently working on a PhD in creative writing at Binghamton University, and she lives in New York with her partner, her dog, and her bearded dragon.